


Affirmative, Sherlock

by TheBleedingVicar



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: CORPSES!!!! (Well, M/M, Multiple wives, The Doctor is living in the TARDIS in Baker Street, Wholock, only one actually.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBleedingVicar/pseuds/TheBleedingVicar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mystery, the 4th Doctor and K-9 meet Sherlock and John. Eventual Johnlock. Assorted other characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stuff.

**Prologue**

There was a wheezing sound as the TARDIS landed in modern-day London. The Doctor grabbed his hat and scarf off the hatstand as he ran out the door. “Come on, K-9!”, he yelled back into the TARDIS. “We haven’t got all day!”. “Affirmative, Master.”, K-9 grumbled as he rolled out the door. “Now you scout out the territory that way, and I’ll go this way.”, the Doctor declared. “Objection, Master” “Fine then, what is it?” “We know this ‘territory’, Master. We have been here before.” “Really! What’s the point of having a robot dog if he doesn’t obey you, that’s what I want to know. Now do what I say!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Affirmative, Master”, K-9 said as he trundled off.

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**Chapter 1**

Sherlock came out of the front door of 221 Baker St to see a small robot dog with K-9 marked on it’s side trundling along the foot path. He stared for a moment before rushing after it. “Hey you! K-9?!”.  It stopped and turned around before rolling back. “Yes, my name is K-9. Yours?” it questioned. “Sherlock. Alright then, K-9. I’ve never met a robot dog before, especially not one formerly from a hospital and in the possession of a rather _eccentric_ personage,” Sherlock remarked. “I am in the possession of  nobody,” K-9 said coldly. “Alright then, currently travelling with a rather eccentric personage.”. “I believe he is generally considered to be eccentric, as you say. I am currently ‘scouting out the territory’, so if you would let me on my way?” “Alright then, off you go,” said Sherlock incredulously.

 

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As K-9 glided down the street, his attention was attracted by a commotion at a tall building on his left side. “Police! Let me through!” an intelligent-looking, brown-eyed man with salt-and-pepper hair was calling, flashing his badge as he moved through the crowd. He was followed shortly by Sherlock and a shorter, sandy-haired man. As they went into the building, K-9 followed them.

 

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Inside the building, the body of a young man stabbed in the chest lay on the floor with a briefcase beside him. The room was a sophisticated modern lobby with glass panes and leather couches dotted around. All the potted palms had been dragged up to hide the body. As K-9 came in, Sherlock was crouching by the body. The apparent policeman started recounting the facts. “The body was discovered this morning by a clerk who’d come in early to open up. Her first instinct, apparently was not to call the police or scream, but to hide the body, which is why the plants are there. She then called us, and we called you. So, what’s your guess?” “I do not ‘guess’.” said Sherlock coldly. “Alright, alright,” said the policeman, holding his hands up in a traditional (for this planet and time) gesture of surrender. “What’s your deduction?” “The victim was a museum caretaker bringing a valuable artifact back from….,” there was a slight pause as he looked over the body “South Africa.” He decided. “He was in his early 30’s, recently divorced, so obviously not the type of person to think his relationships over carefully before committing to them. I’d suggest you find his divorcée. As to cause of death… John?” he asked, gesturing to the shorter man. He came over and studied the body. Very quickly he exclaimed and looked up. “Ok, as odd as it might seem, this man was not killed by the knife to the chest. The stab wound was non-fatal, although painful and debilitating, and he was later strangled. Sherlock, I’m not even going to ask about the rest, but caretaker bringing a valuable artifact back?”. “I was going to say well done, but then you didn’t get that. Oh well, well done for the rest. The briefcase is top security, but there are scuffs on either side of it, and he seems the sort of man who’d take good care of his things. That indicates it was dragged between two narrow aisles of seats a few times. There is wear on the handle consistent with a chain being strapped to it. Conclusion: he was carrying something so valuable it had to be chained to him, most likely to his wrist, on a long enough flight, probably about 12 hours (which, plus the tan, indicates South Africa as the most likely place. There are other things as well, but I won’t go into them.), that he had to get up quite a few times, most likely to go to the bathroom. As for his profession, his suit is expensive, as are his shoes, which indicates the he was in a well-paid job where he didn’t usually have to do much physical work. And yet he was bringing back an artifact from a Third World country. It’s been raining heavily around the airport lately, but his suit is relatively dry, indicating he went home and changed before he came here, which suggests that he was in a position where his public appearance mattered. The only position which fits all the criteria is museum caretaker.”. He sighed. “Must I explain everything?”. The policeman looked up. “We get it, you’re smarter than us. And no, as John said, you don’t have to explain the rest. We’ve been around you long enough to understand it.” “It was a rhetorical question, Lestrade.” The three walked out. K-9 slowly followed them out. This man, Sherlock, he intrigued him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade meets K-9 and the first wife appears.

Sherlock was lying on the couch in 221B Baker St when K-9 rolled in and shot the eye of the yellow smiley face drawn on the wall. Sherlock calmly turned around and looked at him. “K-9. Hat’s quite an impressive laser you’ve got there.” John rushed down the stairs and looked at Sherlock. “You’re not shooting the wall again, are you? We’ve got a case!” “John. We’ve also got a visitor.” Sherlock gestured down. “It’s…. a robot dog.” “Indeed I am.” “A talking robot dog.” “With quite an impressive laser beam too, from what I’ve seen.” “A talking, armed robot dog…. called K-9 apparently. Ha! That’s funny.” Both Sherlock and K-9 looked at him blankly. “K-9… canine… he’s a robot dog… no? Should have known you wouldn’t get it.” There was an awkward silence. “Anyway, why are you here? I don’t mean to sound rude, but, well, I didn’t really expect any kind of dog, let alone a robot one, to turn up today.” John asked. “I met him earlier today, I assume he was curious.” Sherlock replied. “Indeed. I was intrigued by your case. Would you tell me the details?” “The case? But…. of course, no one thought to look down. I’m sure that comes in useful to you. I would presume you heard most of it anyway.” “I did, but have you learnt anything since then?” K-9 asked. “No. Lestrade is now tracking down the divorcée.” “Alright then. Do you have a place where I may power down? I’m running rather low.” “Ah, of course.” John piped up. “Use my bedroom.” “Would you kindly assist me up the stairs?” “You mean carry you? Alright then.” John said, and disappeared up the stairs carrying K-9.

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The Doctor was getting rather worried about K-9. It had been almost a whole day, and he still hadn’t come back. Usually he would have reported back by now, or at least sent a message to the TARDIS. Maybe he’d offended him this morning. He had been known to go missing for days on end when he felt he hadn’t been dealt the correct amount of respect. However, he was still worried about him. “Oh well,” he sighed. “Not much I can do about it.”.

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K-9 powered up the next morning to the sound of the three men, Sherlock, John and Lestrade talking, as well as another unidentified female voice. He trundled to the top of the stairs to hear what was being said. “Mrs. Lance,” Lestrade was saying. “We need to know if your husband had made any enemies. At work, at home, anything.” “The divorce papers have gone through. He’s no longer my husband. And I have taken back my maiden name. I’m now Ms. Garry, thank you.” she snapped. “I’m sorry, Ms. Garry, but we still need to know if he had any enemies that you know of.” “I don’t know of any enemies of his. However. He does have a girlfriend. Barely a month we’ve been divorced, and already he’s moved in with another woman! What has he done this time, anyway?” Lestrade glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded. Both he and John had been silent throughout this whole exchange. “Robert Lance is dead, Ms. Garry.” Lestrade stated. “What…. dead? How did he die? He always seemed so…. indestructible, I guess.” “We have reason to believe he was murdered.” “Well, that’s putting it mildly.” John muttered under his breath. “Murdered? Who murdered him? And who are these people anyway?” She seemed to have gotten over her shock. “This is Dr. John Watson, and this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. They’re assisting us in our investigation.” Sherlock dutifully kept quiet. “Well, I would suggest you question his girlfriend. She seemed the murdering type to me.” “When did you find out about this girlfriend?” Lestrade asked. “Do you know her name, or anything else we could use to find her?” John added. “I only found out about her the other day, but it seemed like they’d known each other for a long time. I heard Robert calling her Felicity before I punched him and she ran out, but I have no idea what her last name is, and I don’t want to know.” “Ok, thank you very much, Ms. Garry. Do you want me to drive you home?” Lestrade suggested. “No, I can get home myself.” she replied. And she stalked out the door, leaving Lestrade and John looking vaguely befuddled and Sherlock looking triumphant.

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Lestrade turned around to look at John and Sherlock just as K-9 shot the wall at the bottom of the stairs. John and Lestrade both jumped, and Sherlock calmly turned around. “Ah, K-9. I presume you want to be brought down? John, would you be so kind as to assist K-9 down the stairs?” John got up and started climbing the stairs. Lestrade stared. “What… the fucking… hell?” “I object to being referred to in such a manner.” K-9 chirped from John’s arms. “Sherlock…. what’s going on here?” “Lestrade, this is K-9. I suggest you be civil to him, as he may assist in the investigation.” “Lestrade, John, Sherlock. I heard you talking to the divorcèe. However, I need to report back to the Doctor, he’ll be worried about me. I will be back though.” “The eccentric you travel with? I’d quite like to meet him.” “Goodbye.” K-9 called back as he trundled through the door. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. “John, would you please carry me down the steps?” John sighed and went over to carry him down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another wife, the Doctor meets John and Sherlock.

K-9 entered the TARDIS to find the Doctor slumped against the wall of the console room looking worried. He jumped up. "K-9! You're back! What took you so long?" "I found some.... interesting people. I was investigating them further." "And what did you think?" "I concluded that you should meet them. One in particular intrigues me. I'll tell you about them on the way there." "Alright." said the Doctor, leaping up to stride over to the console. K-9 intercepted. "Master, we may want to walk." "What? Are you suggesting my driving skills aren't good enough?" "Yes, master." "Oh, fine then, I suppose you're right."

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K-9 and the Doctor entered the flat to find it empty. The Doctor wandered over to the mantelpiece to stare at the skull's empty eye sockets. "Hello, skull. Is it nice on that mantelpiece? What's your name? I think I'll call you Timothy. You look like a Timothy to me." He then loped over to the couch and threw himself down on it. "This is comfortable." he decided as he took a bag of jelly babies out of one of his many pockets and started eating them. K-9 rolled into the kitchen and settled down.

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Sherlock and John entered the flat to see a tall man with a voluminous mop of hair and an equally voluminous coat with an extremely long scarf draped casually around his neck lying on their couch eating jelly babies. "Hello John, hello Sherlock. Would you like a jelly baby?" he offered, holding the bag out. "I decided to call your skull Timothy. It looked like a Timothy to me." "No, I would not like a jelly baby, and its name is George. He was an old friend of my fathers, and I found him useful to talk to before I had John-" Sherlock suddenly clammed up. He hadn't even told John about it being an old friend of his father's, but this stranger, presumably the Doctor, just seemed to make you want to tell him your life story. John just looked vaguely amused. The Doctor regarded him with a curious stare. "K-9!" he called back into the kitchen. "You never did tell me which one intrigued you. I presume it was John?" K-9 slowly trundled out of the kitchen. "No, actually, master. It was Sherlock, but John is also interesting." John waved his arms. "Hello? Here?". The Doctor returned his stare to him. "Ah, sorry 'bout that. Are you sure you wouldn't like a jelly baby? These are very nice ones, from the forests of Asdelimno. They actually do grow on trees there! Just imagine that for a moment. A whole forest, full of jelly babies. One of the best planets I've ever been to. Of course, there are many other nice ones, and a few not so nice ones, but very few come close to beating that." John retained his vaguely amused expression. "Thankyou, I think I will try one." "I presume you are the Doctor" Sherlock butted in. "Yes, indeed I am. I hear K-9's helping you on a case? I've always found him a great help, though he's less obedient than you'd expect a robot to be." The Doctor stared down at K-9 seriously before cracking into a manic grin. "Could I be of any help?" ".... Yes, could you try to find out as much about Robert Lance, the museum caretaker, as you can while we go interview the girlfriend?" Sherlock requested. "Sure! I can do that!" "May we take K-9 with us?" asked John. The Doctor looked down. "What do you think, K-9? Can they take you with them?" "Affirmative, master." "Well, there you go! You should really always ask him, I can't decide these things for him." "Ok then, we'll see you soon!" John called out as he hurried to catch up with Sherlock and K-9, who were already out the door.

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Sherlock and John clambered out of the taxi, and John took K- 9 out. The cabbie had looked at them oddly when they brought him in, but John didn't really trust cabbies anymore, not since A Study In Pink. They went into the house that was apparently where Felicity, the girlfriend lived. John had asked Sherlock how he'd found this out, but he hadn't given any answer, at least not a clear one. They knocked, and someone who looked suspiciously like a butler answered the door. "Yes?" he asked. "Do you wish to see Ms. Sorrows?" John glanced at Sherlock. "Yes." he answered. "We're with the police." The butler looked startled. "Why do you wish to see Ms. Sorrows? I assure you we have done nothing wrong." "We'd like to question her in regard to a murder." "A murder? Come into the parlour, I'll inform her of your presence." They were led into a grand parlour after he had taken their coats. Sherlock started pacing up and down. "Just sit down!" John hissed. Sherlock completely ignored him and continued his pacing. John sighed heavily and gave up. "It must be very useful being down at that level." he said to K-9. "No-one ever bothers to look down, do they?" "Not unless I make a noise, no. It has come in handy before." "Better be quiet again, someone's coming." The butler walked in. "Ms. Sorrows will see you now." John stood up as the butler walked out. A dark- haired woman with piercing blue eyes walked in. She was extremely beautiful and very aware of it. "I hear you are with the police?" she stated. "Yes. We're investigating the murder of Robert Lance." Sherlock said bluntly. She drew in a sharp breath. "He's been murdered? But.... Have you got any leads yet?" "No, not yet." John said. "We were informed you may be able to help us." "Ask me anything, and I'll try to answer as best I can. I just can't believe it's him." "Do you know if he had any enemies? Or rivals?" "Yes. I presume you know he worked for the British Museum?" "Yes." John lied. "Well, he had a highly valued job. There were plenty of people who wanted it. I wouldn't have thought any of them would kill for it though..." "Do you know his associates, close friends...?" "Of course I do, we were married." John glanced at Sherlock in surprise. "When were you married?" Sherlock asked. "A year ago. I would have presumed you knew that." "Of course, just checking on the details." John lied. "Well, his best friend was Larry Brown. He's known him since university, they studied Economics together." "Economics?" "Originally he wanted to be an accountant." "Ok. Do you know Larry Brown's address?" "34 Lupus St." "Thankyou very much Ms. Sorrows. We may contact you again." Sherlock said. "Alright then." she said, looking faintly surprised. "Do you want my phone number?" "Yes please." John interjected. She scribbled it down on the front sheet of a notepad lying on the coffee table. "Here you are." she said, handing it over. "Thanks a lot." John said as he got hurried out the door. "Goodbye."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another wife, and the best friend. Mrs. Hudson meets K-9, HP reference, and the best friend is an annoying jerk.

When they got back to the flat the Doctor was lying in exactly the same spot. “Have you actually done anything?” John exclaimed. “Of course,” the Doctor replied, affronted. “Robert Lance was Head Curator at The British Museum. They reported him missing 4 days ago, however, he hadn't turned up for work since the 14th, 3 days before that. When I enquired as to why they hadn’t reported him missing before that, I found out that apparently, although he’s actually usually quite regular with work, he was a bit of a trouble-maker and a ladies man, so they just assumed he’d taken off for the weekend or something of the kind. And the most interesting thing of all, they were under the impression that he was never married, and never would get married, but they said that he had a girlfriend, Alana Federi. Apparently a completely different person to either the divorcée or the girlfriend you just interviewed.” “We found out, among other things, that he was apparently married to Felicity Sorrows, the supposed ‘girlfriend’.” Sherlock said. “So we can safely assume that he was probably married to this Alana Federi too.” John added. There was a knocking on the door and Mrs. Hudson escorted Lestrade up. “Sherlock, Lestrade was downstairs.” “Ah, thankyou Mrs. Hudson.” “Hello Lestrade.” said K-9. “Who was that?” asked Mrs. Hudson, frowning and looking around. “Me.” replied K-9. “Mrs. Hudson, this is K-9.” John said, picking him up. Mrs. Hudson blinked. “Hello K-9. What’s going on, Sherlock?” “I met K-9 the other day, up the street. He’s assisting us in the case.” “Ah. Well, I hope you're happy here, K-9.” “I am so far, thankyou.” “Well, that’s nice, dear.” While this was going on, Lestrade had made his way into the flat and was now talking to the Doctor. “Hello. Who are you?” “Hello Lestrade, I'm the Doctor.” “Doctor Who?” The Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Just the Doctor.” “Well then ‘just the Doctor’, have you ever made anything... happen? When you were angry, or scared?” “I’m not a wizard, if that’s what you mean.” Lestrade looked surprised. “Yes, I know my popular culture. Unlike Sherlock, apparently.” “Yes, unlike Sherlock. Anyway, can you fill me in on the parts of the case that you’ve figured out, and that Sherlock has undoubtedly not filled me in on?” The Doctor proceeded to do so.

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Mrs. Hudson had retreated back down to her apartment for a nice, soothing cup of tea after her encounter with K-9. She did try to be civil to all the odd visitors that Sherlock brought into her nice clean flat, even if she wasn't always civil to Sherlock himself- she grimaced. Her nice wall, and him with his bloody gun shooting her wall! Really, sometimes it was too much, even if she was fond of him. At least John was polite. She liked John. Definitely, a metal robot dog was by far the strangest visitor yet. She sighed and went into the kitchen to make that cup of tea. Perhaps she'd put a nip of brandy in it.  
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“Well, looks like we’ve got a polygamist on our hands. We’d better go and visit this Alana Federi, along with Larry Brown, his supposed best friend.” Lestrade said. “Indeed. How about we split up? Me and John and K-9 can go see Larry Brown, and you visit Alana Federi with the Doctor.” Sherlock suggested. “Is that alright with everybody?” Lestrade asked. There was a chorus of “Yes.” and “Fine by me.” “Alright then, let’s go.”

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Sherlock, John and K-9 found themselves in a taxi again. John noted that they seemed to have an affinity to taxis. Sherlock replied that it was impractical to drive a car in modern-day London. K-9 agreed with Sherlock. Before they knew it, they'd found themselves outside a posh house that was really more like a manor and apparently belonged to Larry Brown. John knocked on the door, and a middle-aged man with balding brown hair opened the door. “Yes?” he asked tiredly. “Are you here to see Mr. Brown?” Before John could reply, a man about the same age as the victim came to the door and slapped the other man on the back and grinned broadly. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Larry Brown. This is my PA, Boney. Well, Mr. Boni.” Mr. Boni smiled weakly. “Did you want to see me?” “Yes, Mr. Brown. May we come in?” “Larry, please. Come in, come in.”. He strode off down the hallway, leaving John, Mr. Boni and K-9 to lag behind while Sherlock took off at top speed after him. Mr. Boni suddenly jerked his head up. “What on earth is that?” “You looked down.” John said, surprised. “Well, of course I looked down.” “Most people don’t, that's all. Mr. Boni, this is K- 9.” “Right. Hello, K-9.” “Hello, Mr. Boni.” “Oh, call me Boney, everyone does.” he said bitterly. “Mr. Lance was the only one who didn't.” On that note, John walked into the room and Mr. Boni continued down the passage. Sherlock had evidently told Larry about Robert Lance’s death already, since he’d lost his wide grin and looked rather shell-shocked. Sherlock looked up. “Would you like to continue, John?” John sighed. “Sherlock, could you try to dumb down your bluntness when you’re telling somebody their best friend died?” “I thought I did rather well.” “Considering the fact that Mr. Brown here is almost crying, I’d say not.” “Hmmph.” “Mr. Brown, I apologise for my friend. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to care about what comes out of his mouth. What has he told you?” “Just that... Robert is dead.” “We believe he’s been murdered. We were wondering what you could tell us about him.” John said gently. “Robert.... Robert was a wonderful man, everyone loved him. He was a bit of a troublemaker, sure, but aren’t we all?” he laughed. “And he’d settled down a bit now, he’d gotten married and all! I never would have thought Robert would have got married. He chose well though. Sara, her name is. Sara Lefoski. She’s beautiful. You'd see her on his arm at all the fancy do’s, you know? Not the business ones, though, she refused to go to the business ones. I always thought that was odd.” “Can you tell us Sara Lefoski's address?” “She lived with Robert, at 342 Circus Rd.” “Ok, thanks. Do you know if he had any enemies?" "Like I said, everybody loved him-“ “How long has Mr. Boni been with you?” Sherlock interrupted. Larry looked startled. “Almost six years. He’s been with me since I started my own company.” “Hmm.” “As I was saying, he didn’t have any enemies that I knew of. Everybody loved him.” “Thankyou, Mr. Brown. May we have your number in case we need to contact you again?” “Ah, of course. Boney!” he shouted. “Yes, Mr. Brown?” Mr. Boni asked, coming in. “Get me my business cards and a pen.” “Of course, Mr. Brown.” There were a few moments of awkward silence as Mr. Boni fetched them. After he came back in with them, Mr. Brown scribbled down something and gave it to them. “Here you are. The card has my work number on it, and I’ve just written my home number down.” he said, handing it to them. “Thankyou, Mr. Brown.” John said as Mr. Boni escorted them to the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Boni.” “Goodbye, Dr. Watson.”  
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Meanwhile, Lestrade and the Doctor had gone to visit Alana. Lestrade knocked at the door of an average-sized house in an average street. A beautiful woman with long brown hair and grey eyes opened the door. “Hello?” she said in a slight accent. “Do I know you?” “No, we’re with the police.” Lestrade said. “I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade, and this is the Doctor.” “Doctor Who?” “Just the Doctor, ma’am.” the Doctor replied. “Come in. Why are you here?” “We’re investigating the murder of Robert Lance.” “Rob?" she gasped, wide-eyed. “What happened to him?” “That's what we’re trying to affirm.” Lestrade answered. “Do you know where your husband was?” “He was on a business trip. Rob?! But...” “How long had you been married, Ms. Federi?” “We got married two years ago. It was a small ceremony, just close friends and family.”. So far the Doctor had been silent, just watching and listening. But at this he jumped in, asking, “Had he been married before?” “Yes,” she replied. “But he’d got divorced a year before. It was something he’d foolhardily rushed into, because he was so young. He wasn’t sure about getting married again, but I managed to convince him.”. She smiled fondly. “And we’re very happy together.... were very happy together.” “Do you know if he had any enemies?” Lestrade asked. “Ummm.... well, he used to be a bit of a gambler. I suppose it might be someone from his old life.” “I take it he’d reformed?” “Yes, he was going straight now.” “Well, thankyou very much, Ms. Federi. We’ll leave you alone now.” “Thankyou.” she said as she took them to the door. Just as they went out, she called out. “Detective Inspector?”. He turned around. “Just.... find the man who killed him, won’t you?” “Of course.” “Thankyou.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade discovers the TARDIS

John, Sherlock and K-9 walked down towards the crowds of London not far away from the silenced street of Larry Brown's house. "Poor Mr. Boni," John said. "He's obviously been trodden on since he started work there, yet he stays." "He obviously stays for the chance at a major role in the company." Sherlock replied absent-mindedly. "I don't understand why people do that. If someone's treating you that badly, get out, is what I say." "I would certainly never do it myself.". Still absent-minded. "I wonder how he knew that Mr. Lance was dead. He referred to him in the past tense. But I don't think he's the murderer." "He'd seen something about the death of a caretaker at The British Museum, and he put that together with people they didn't know turning up on the doorstep, and came up with the fact that it was Robert Lance. He's quite intelligent, for someone with an average brain. No, he's not the murderer. The best friend is a definite suspect though." "Mmm. I'll be glad if it's him." "Why?" K- 9 asked. "Did you see the man? I'm hoping if he gets put away, Mr. Boni will get the position he wants." "But you apologized for Sherlock being blunt." "Well, if he isn't the murderer, he doesn't deserve being told his best friend was murdered so bluntly." John glanced at Sherlock, expecting some comment about that, but none came. By now they'd reached the streets, and Sherlock got a taxi for them. By the time they'd reached the flat, the Doctor and Lestrade were also back. "How did your interview go?" Lestrade asked. "He was one of the most annoying men I've met, but Mr. Boni, his PA, was nice, if downtrodden." "In what manner was he annoying?" the Doctor asked. "He was one of those people who's always aggressively cheerful, and he also treated his PA very badly. And he was convinced he was better than anyone else." At this, Sherlock stalked over to the couch and flopped down onto it grumpily. John glanced over and sighed. "I didn't mean it like that, Sherlock." Sherlock glared and turned to the wall. John sighed again. "Lestrade, could you please make tea?" Lestrade looked vaguely amused, nodded and went into the kitchen. "And K-9, don't you need to power down to conserve energy?" "Negative, my power levels are-" "Yes, he does," the Doctor interrupted. "Come on, K-9." And they went up the stairs. John walked over to his chair and sat down. "Sherlock, you _know_ I didn't mean it like that, so why are you sulking?" There was complete silence from the direction of the couch. "Because that is most definitely what you are doing." More silence. "It's impossible for me to try to fix whatever it is if I don't know." Sherlock knew he was being unreasonable, but he was trying not to acknowledge it. He wouldn't have been upset if anyone else had said it, so he didn't know why it affected him so much. It made no sense. So he was refusing to believe it. He was perfectly aware of John cajoling him to tell him what was wrong, but how could he when he didn't know himself? He retreated further into his mind palace, exploring the attic, where he put things that he knew would be useful one day but had not yet been used. But he kept wandering to the stables, where he put things to do with John, because he knew he'd like the horses. His mind palace is really more of a mansion, but definitely not the one he grew up in. He scowled. He had not had a happy home life. Well, not after Mycroft had gone off to boarding school. He kept up the feud more out of pride than anything else. It had started when he left him at home. He did have a sister, but she had been way too interested in drugs and boys at that age to care about him. He'd never forgiven her for that, and he hadn't had any contact with her since he left home. As far as he knew, Mycroft hadn't either, after he came home and found out that she was completely ignoring him. Anyway, he'd really rather not remember that. He came out of his mind palace to hear John still trying to persuade him to tell him what was wrong. He sighed internally and kept stubborn silence. "Fine, then!" John exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "We'll discuss the case without you!" That got a reaction, he noted drily. Sherlock sat up and threw himself around. At this point Lestrade came out of the kitchen with a pot of tea and four cups in his hands. "I figured K-9 wouldn't drink tea. Engine fuel is probably more up his alley. Have you two resolved it?" "Not really, but I got him talking again." By now John had given up trying to convince people they weren't a couple. Anyway, he found he didn't really mind anymore. "Should I get the Doctor and K-9 down again?" Lestrade asked. "Yes, please." John replied. "They'll be in the police box in the storage room." Lestrade went up the stairs to find the police box in the storage room. "Hi-" Lestrade said, walking into it. "I'd just got over the last surprise." he muttered under his breath. "Ah, hello, Lestrade!" the Doctor said brightly. "I wonder what his reaction's going to be." he muttered under his breath to K-9. "Hello. I- Can you come back down?" "Ah, delayed shock. And yes, we'll follow you down.". They went back down the stairs. "Sherlock, were you aware that this particular 'Police Box' is bigger on the inside and has something that looks remarkably like a spaceship console inside it, except.... sparser?" Lestrade asked, rather accusingly. "Hm." he grunted. John sighed. "Yes, he was, and so was I." "Alright then. Shall we get back to the case?" "Yes." John replied. "So, apparently Mr. Brown was aware of a completely different wife, Sara Lefoski. We should probably interview her too." "He liked the girls with exotic names, didn't he? No Jane Browns for him!" the Doctor commented. "Mmm..." John agreed. "Anyway, that was the most significant thing we found out. What about you?" "Well, she was the nicest of any of the suspects, going by your descriptions. She seemed to be truly in love with him, and she wasn't arrogant, angry, haughty, or annoying in any other aspect." "I agree." the Doctor said. "She seemed very sincere." "Anyway, according to her, 'Rob' was away on a business trip, had been married and divorced once before and used to be a gambler but was now reformed." "Well, the gambler part fits with other accounts, although his work colleagues gave the impression of thinking he still was." John said. "So our primary suspects are....?" "Larry Brown, the best friend, and Leesa Garry, the divorcée." Sherlock said impatiently. "Alright, alright. You don't have to say it in that tone of voice." John said. "It isn't as obvious to us lesser mortals." "Of course, all of the wives are suspects too. Any one of them could have found out he was cheating on them and killed him." the Doctor commented. "Yes, which just makes the case ridiculously complicated." Lestrade said exasperatedly.

 

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Lestrade lay awake that night trying to figure out the case, but an image of the inside of that police box (apparently called the TARDIS, as he'd found out later) kept appearing inside his head. He finally threw himself up out of bed in exasperation and started pacing. He finally threw himself against the wall, groaning in frustration. "It's not possible!" he close to shouted. Good thing Angeline had moved into a separate bedroom, he thought drily. She would have hated the bother. He finally got his mind to move to the case, but soon after he moved to the Doctor, and from there to the TARDIS. He growled in frustration. Just get everything to do with the case out of your head, he thought. Think about.... ducks. Baby ducks. Baby ducks had no relevance to the case whatsoever. He finally managed to calm down thinking about the baby ducks, but when he got back into bed he started wondering if the beds inside the TARDIS were bigger on the inside too. He finally gave up and started making preparations to stay awake for the night.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They organise to meet the last(?) wife, and the Doctor meets Mycroft.

John, Sherlock, the Doctor and K-9 all headed over to New Scotland Yard the next day to be confronted by amazed stares from most of the officers, an eye roll from Donovan and a yawning Lestrade. "Hi." Lestrade yawned. "I was about to call you. I thought you might want to observe the new wife in her 'natural habitat', as it was, so I organised invitations for three of us to go to a society ball she's hosting. Sorry," he added to the Doctor. "I couldn't manage a fourth one." "It's alright,” the Doctor said. "I'll stay in the TARDIS and mull things over...." "It's from 8:30pm to 1:30 am." "....or sleep." Sherlock looked at him oddly. "What? I'm almost 750, you know." "...And I believe it..." Lestrade muttered. "Anyway, it's next Wednesday, at her house." "Alright. Is there anything we should be doing till then?" the Doctor asked. "I don't think so. You can do... whatever you normally do....., maybe John can finally manage to keep a girlfriend for more than 5 days if he actually goes out on dates with her and Sherlock can sulk and brood." "Hey!" from John. "Well, you have to admit it's true." Lestrade said. "It's Sherlock's fault anyway." "In more ways than one..." "I'm not... Oh, never mind." Sherlock had watched all this with an amused smirk. The Doctor interjected here. "So, as far as we know, this is the last wife. That's, what, four wives? How did he manage to juggle them all?" "I haven't found evidence of any more wives." Lestrade answered. "And I have no idea how he managed to juggle them all with none of them being aware of the others." "Presumably," K-9 chirped up "they all believed he was off collecting artifacts or such like when he was with the other wives." "I can see how that would work with two, but _four_?" John sounded utterly baffled. "People will believe many things if they wish to." K-9 said wisely.

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So, for the next 4 days, Sherlock refused to get the milk, Mrs. Hudson alternately was a sweet old lady and swore at Sherlock for damaging her apartment, John sighed and ended up getting the milk, Lestrade shouted at Angela and she shouted back, before he stormed out of the house to brood over Scotch at the pub, the Doctor fiddled with the TARDIS, and K-9 tried to persuade various people to play chess and occasionally succeeded. On Tuesday, the night before they were going to the society ball, the Doctor got picked up by a strange black car when he went out to buy corn chips (he needed them for the TARDIS. It's better not to ask why.). He was walking down the street towards the grocery shop when the phone in a booth next to him rang and the ATM on the other side of the road flashed 'Doctor' in big letters, and then 'answer the phone.' So, being the Doctor, he answered it. "Hello?" "Hello. I'm a.... an acquaintance, shall we say, of Sherlock's. I would advise getting in the car." "Alright then, if you advise it." And he got into the sleek black car that had just pulled up by the sidewalk. "Hello." he said to the woman sitting beside him, texting. "Would you like a jelly baby?". She looked over at him and smiled patronisingly. "No, thanks." "Shame." he said, proceeding to eat a handful himself. "They're very nice ones." "I'm sure they are." They sat in silence for the rest of the journey to Battersea Power Station.

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Back at 221B, John was starting to get worried. "The Doctor's been a while now. I thought he was just getting corn chips." he said to Sherlock, who was in one of his rare conversational moods. "He's probably been detained by Mycroft. I'm surprised he hasn't been already, actually. He got you on, what, the second day? And the Doctor's been here more than a week now. My dear brother's getting slow." "And knowing the Doctor as I do," K-9 added. "He would have walked right in and offered him a jelly baby." John looked surprised. "How do you know about Mycroft? We haven't told you." One of K-9's eyescreens went blank momentarily. "We robots have our ways."

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"You can get out here." the texting woman said, as they pulled up outside Battersea Power Complex. "Alright then." the Doctor said before clambering out of the car. He bent down to say goodbye, but the car had already sped off. He straightened up and walked into the building. As he walked he was guided to the correct spot by messages flashed to his sonic screwdriver. When he walked into the large, (fairly) empty, concrete space he'd been directed to, he was confronted by a well-dressed man with an air of authority, who was slowly spinning a black umbrella by his side. "Hello, Doctor." he said quietly, though his voice boomed in this space. "I hear you're helping Sherlock with a case." It was a statement, not a question. "I seem to be, yes." the Doctor replied cheerfully. "I'm not really sure how that happened." "Yes, he does tend to have that effect on people. Though I must say you're taking him awfully well." "Well, I haven't been alone in a room with him yet. We'll have to wait to see how that goes." "I doubt Doctor Watson will allow you to be. I take it you plan on furthering your acquaintance then?" "Well, they both seem perfectly nice..." Mycroft raised one eyebrow. "Alright, John seems perfectly nice. Sherlock is smart and interesting." "That sounds more accurate." There was a long silence after this. It seemed that neither of them was going to crack, and they were each showing the other that. Finally Mycroft tilted his head slightly and stated, "You can go now. There's a car out the front waiting to take you to the store." "Thankyou." Mycroft nodded to the taller man. He nodded back before walking out, his coat flying behind him.

 

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Back at 221B, the Doctor came in carrying a bag of corn chips. "Hi." he said to John and Sherlock. "Hello K-9." "I see you got detained by Mycroft." Sherlock commented. "Yes. I think your brother brings out the intimidating side in me." the Doctor replied. "You?" John said incredulously. "An intimidating side? Not that I mean..." "No, it's alright. I get that a lot." "And how do you know Mycroft's his brother? I highly doubt Mycroft told you." "He seems to like his air of mystery, indeed. He didn't even introduce himself. And K-9 told me about him." "I wouldn't like to be on the bad side of you and K-9." John commented. "I have a feeling you'd make fearful opponents." The Doctor smiled. "Well, lucky you aren't then! Now, do you two have tuxedos?" "Tuxedos?" "For tomorrow night. I have the feeling it's black tie." "I don't think I have any that still fit. Sherlock?" "No, never saw the need. Still don't." "You won't make a very good impression if you're not in formal dress at this ball," Sherlock opened his mouth and the Doctor cut in smoothly. "And I know you don't care about impressions, but it is easier to question people if you've made a good first impression." "Alright then." Sherlock agreed grumpily. The Doctor clapped his hands. "Now, I know an excellent little tailor on Oxford Street in the 1800's..." "Um, Doctor." John interrupted his musings. "Yes, dear fellow?" John smiled. "It might be a little awkward if someone asks where we got them and we say "Oh, this lovely little shop on Oxford Street." "Oh? I don't know them." "That's because they went out of business in 1910." It could raise a few questions." "They went out of business in 1924, actually, but yes, I see your point... I guess it will have to be present day then. Shame, the suits are nowhere near as nice as they used to be." "It might be better, yes. One from this century, at least." "Oh, but this century's so small! Only a decade! Still, I'm sure I can find some place..." And that was how they found themselves in a tiny, squashed tailor in a side alley that not even Sherlock knew the name of...

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tailor, and someone else assumes that John and Sherlock are a couple. Could be pre-slash...

That afternoon, all four of them were squeezed into a room that John was sure couldn't have been more than eight square feet. When they'd come in, the tiny tailor had scurried up to them and exclaimed "Doctor!", before turning to John and Sherlock, bowing and introducing himself as Wilkins. Just Wilkins. K-9 had then trundled out from behind the Doctor and he had knelt down and patted him on the head. "And K-9! Haven't seen you two in a while. What do you want today?". After the Doctor had explained that they were looking for two tuxedos on short notice for John and Sherlock, he had exclaimed "Ah, a challenge!" before turning around and vanishing out the back door of the shop. John had then uttered a short bark of amusement and asked the Doctor if he was sure he hadn't taken them back in time. Upon the Doctor replying, that yes, it did rather seem that way, didn't it, but he was the best tailor in this century, silence fell. Shortly after, Wilkins came scurrying back in with two reams of material and beckoned to Sherlock to come behind the shop. After ten minutes, Sherlock came back, looking grumpy. "He wants you now." he said to John, jerking his head towards the back door. "Just follow the signs.". Completely mystified as to what Sherlock meant, thinking that surely there couldn't be enough space out there for there to be a need for _signs,_ John headed out the back door. To step into a perfectly lush-he couldn't think of any other word for it- _jungle_. After closer inspection, he found out that what had appeared to be trees growing out of the cement ground were actually potted plants and vines trained to grow around the concrete poles, but still... It was truly amazing. He wondered how he'd ever managed to cultivate such a variety of plants in the smog and dirt of London. Especially a London alleyway. After a moment of staring, he shook himself. Follow the signs, Sherlock had said. After another moment of trying to find anything resembling a sign within the multitude of greenery, he spotted a vine that was growing around an arrow and walked in the direction that it was pointing. After following a few more of these, he found himself at a small wooden room with a Wilkins hanging out of it. "Come in, come in! Did you enjoy my garden?" "It was brilliant," John replied, still in a slight daze. "How did you manage to grow all those plants _here_?" "A simple matter of cultivation and lots of water." John shot him a look of astonishment and doubt and walked inside the small wooden room. "Now stand there." Wilkins told him, gesturing to a spot in the middle of the room. John obediently walked over to it and stood facing Wilkins. "No, no, turn around." John turned around. In the large mirror on the other side of the room, he saw Wilkins scuttle over to a chest of drawers on one wall of the room, and come back bearing a pad of paper and pen in one hand and a long measuring tape in the other. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only about 10 minutes - John reflected that he didn't really like being left alone with his thoughts lately. Probably because they kept inexplicably turning back to Sherlock. - of Wilkins performing what seemed like every measurement known to humans on him – and a few that he was sure weren’t -, tutting "yes, yes." and "no, that won't do at all." - which frankly made John quite nervous - and holding his measuring tape between his teeth, which, John reflected, made him look some sort of demented Spanish dancer, he held out a suit, which he'd apparently produced out of thin air, to John and said "Try this one on now. I'll make you one, but I just want to see what this one looks like on you. Follow me after you've got it on." and he promptly walked out. John looked up to the ceiling and sighed, before getting changed into it and walking out of the small room, carrying his old clothes. He looked around, but couldn't see any trace of Wilkins, so he started up the path towards the cramped main room again. As he walked in he looked around. "Isn't Wilkins in here?" he asked. "No." the Doctor replied. Sherlock looked shell-shocked and seemed speechless. "Oh, he told me to follow him, but I couldn't see him when I came out, so I just figured he'd come back here." He glanced at Sherlock. "Oh, have I finally found the consulting detective mute button? What is it?". The Doctor smirked but remained silent. At that moment, a shot rang out and the window shattered. Both John and Sherlock leapt into action, running out of the door and looking for the culprit. They simultaneously noted someone leaping into a car waiting for them and Sherlock summoned a cab. They both vaulted inside it and John shouted to the driver "Follow that cab!" before sighing, "I've always wanted to say that." Sherlock, who was perched on the edge of the seat and looking out the window, glanced at John bemusedly but just said "It isn't a cab." "Yes, but..." John sighed. "It doesn't matter." The cab was driving through dark alleys with innumerable twists and turns, following the black car, but it was getting further and further away. After another 2 minutes, the cabbie stopped on a busy street and turned around and said in a Cockney accent "Sorry chaps, we lost 'em." "Damn!" John said. "Oh well, here." he said handing him 15 pounds. "Come on, John." Sherlock called in, clambering out. "I'm coming, I'm coming." "Did you catch any glimpse of them?" "No, but that was a ladies gun, so it was probably a woman or possibly a small man." "It was a woman." "I'm not even going to ask how you're so sure about that." Sherlock opened his mouth and John held up his hand. "No, I wasn't going to ask." "Fine then. We should probably go back to the shop, they'll be wondering where we are." "Yeah, and I just sent that cab away... Oh well, we'll have to walk." Sherlock set off up the street at a brisk pace. "Oi, Sherlock!" John called out. "Slow down! Not everyone's legs rival a giraffe's in terms of length!" Sherlock sighed and slowed slightly. "Thankyou." John puffed as he caught up to him. "Very nice of you to slow for us lesser mortals." They walked on in comfortable silence till they reached the shop. As they walked in, Wilkins accosted John, practically shrieking. "My suit, my suit!" "He takes great pride in his suits." the Doctor said to John. "And I just managed to completely wreck one." John finished the sentence, looking down at himself. "And we didn't even manage to get them." "Did you see who it was?" "No-" Sherlock interrupted with "But it was a woman." "Just what I was about to say." John smiled. "I can't even bring myself to be annoyed with you.". The Doctor looked at him questioningly. "Oh, did I just say that out loud? Bugger." At that moment Wilkins threw up his hands and went "Ruined! It's ruined!" "Ah... Sorry, Wilkins." John said. "I couldn't really do much about it." "That was one of my best suits!" "Really sorry, Wilkins. Do you want me to give you the money?" "I shall send you the bill for the material." Wilkins said sharply. "Okay..." John said, with no idea what he'd just got himself into. "Did you like the greenery?" the Doctor changed the subject. "Yes, it was quite amazing." "How did he tell you he did it?" "Cultivation and water." The Doctor chuckled. "Don't believe him, I gave him the tools." "I did think it seemed unlikely..." "A fine, almost invisible net that keeps out smog, soot, etcetera, and also lets down water periodically." "Alien, I presume." "No, just futuristic. You have to come up with that technology eventually, or you wouldn't be able to grow any plants." "Us?" "Humans." "Ah."

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As they stood outside the shop, the Doctor said "Walk up the end of the street, turn left, then right, and you should be able to get a taxi from that road." "What about you and K-9?" John asked. "I have to find something out from someone, and K-9 could come in useful." "Alright then, see you back at the flat?" "We might be a bit late. Don't wait up!" he called as he started down the other end of the street where there seemed to be a dead end. But as John and Sherlock watched, he and K-9 faded straight through the wall. After staring, befuddled, after them for a moment, they started off, following the directions the Doctor had given them. As they turned onto a main street, Sherlock stumbled and John looked at him worriedly. Sherlock walked on and hailed a cab and John hurried to catch up. They slid in and John said to the cabbie, "221 Baker St, please." Sherlock swayed slightly and blinked before falling onto the door passed out. John sighed and gently pulled him around until he was laying the other way with his head on John's shoulder. He looked down at him affectionately and shook his head. He called quietly to the cabbie, "How long will we be?" "About 20 minutes." she called back. "Thanks." They stayed in that position for the 20 minutes it took to get to Baker St, with John mulling over the case. When they got there, John shook Sherlock. "Come on, Sherlock, we're home." "Mmm..." Sherlock stirred. "Thin you may be, but I don't think I can carry you." John prodded Sherlock in the back to get out before bending down and thanking the cabbie. "It was a pleasure." she replied. "It's always nice to see love in the world." "We're not... oh, never mind." It drove away and John steered Sherlock into 221 and up the stairs to 221B, and put him into his bed. "Goodnight." he whispered.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mothering John, and they go the ball. Don't diss the jam

John was sitting in 'his' chair as Sherlock bounded down the stairs. "How long had it been since you'd slept?" he asked sternly. "I don't know... five days?" "Sherlock, you can't just disregard your body like that." Sherlock opened his mouth and John held up a hand. "Yes, I know it's 'only your transport', but you still have to take care of it, or that is going to happen in the middle of a crime scene and you'll end up losing evidence and embarrassing yourself in front of the officers." Sherlock looked grumpy. "You don't have to agree with the principle, just as long as you agree that, as someone with a medical degree, you really should take my advice on this." "But-" "Yeah, I know, you're more intelligent than me, but in matters like this, you're really not smarter. And there's a difference between smart and intelligent." "Fine." "Now, when did you last eat?" "Saturday." Sherlock muttered. John sighed. "If you won't eat regularly, at _least_ eat every second day. You have to agree that isn't really demanding." "But you know digestion slows me down." "Going into hospital would also slow you down." John replied firmly. "Now, you sit here and I'm going to get you something to eat." John walked into the kitchen just as the Doctor bounded down the stairs. "We have to go pick up your suits!" he exclaimed. "Let me shovel something down Sherlock's throat first." John called from the kitchen. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in John's general direction and the Doctor laughed. John came out of the kitchen with a plate of toast and jam and a cup of tea and glared at the Doctor and Sherlock. "I'm trying to get him to take his health seriously. You really shouldn't be laughing." "Sorry, mother." the Doctor replied. "Oh... just eat this, Sherlock." John said, thrusting the plate and cup at Sherlock. " _Jam_ , John?" Sherlock said in a voice of disdain. "It was the fastest available way to get calories into you. Don't diss the jam." "Fine." Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Oh, just eat it, drama queen." John smiled. Sherlock smiled back and started eating. The Doctor had watched this exchange with a look of scientific curiosity, but before he could say anything, K-9 rolled to the top of the stairs and requested help getting down. As the Doctor went up to get him, John asked, "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just sleep or whatever you do down here?" "The prime charging equipment is in the TARDIS." "Ah." There was a silence after this until Sherlock finished eating, at which point the Doctor leapt up and said they needed to go get their suits. "Fine, fine. Let's go get a taxi." John conceded.

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It didn't take long to get there, John observed. Certainly not 20 minutes. It was... odd. As they went in, Wilkins came to the front and declared that he had their suits ready. He wasn't in as good a mood as he had been last time. John figured it was probably about the suit that he'd wrecked. Still, he thought he'd made amends by offering to pay for the material for the new one. Even if Sherlock seemed to think that was a bad idea. Still, Wilkins seemed cheerful to the Doctor and at least cordial to them. They picked up the suits and the Doctor paid for them with something that didn’t look like any credit card John, had ever seen, but seemed to work perfectly. Wilkins bade them good day rather chillingly and they left to go back to Baker Street.

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Lestrade stood in the living room of 221B Baker St waiting for Sherlock and John. The Doctor was lounging on the couch with K-9 sitting next to him. They made quite an odd sight, Lestrade reflected. But one he'd pretty much got used to by now. John came down the stairs first and greeted Lestrade. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked. "Still getting dressed, I presume." John answered, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't think he'd take so long, would you?" “He never used to be,” Lestrade replied. “In fact, it’s only since you’ve arrived…” John started to reply but trailed off and stared as Sherlock came down the stairs, fully dressed in a formal suit and fiddling with his cufflinks. “Why do I have to wear this? It’s incredibly…” Sherlock similarly trailed off as he looked up. The Doctor and Lestrade exchanged wry smiles. Lestrade waved his hand in between them and said loudly “Hello? Earth to the Baker Street boys?” John startled out of it first. “Alright… alright. Are we all ready?” Sherlock shook himself like a dog shaking off water and agreed. He seemed to have forgone all complaints regarding his outfit after it had had such an effect on John, Lestrade noted.

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Well, that was… not entirely unexpected, thought Sherlock. If he thought about it, it had been creeping up on him for weeks, even months; it just didn’t really connect until then. Which was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Although the feelings were fairly new. But that still wasn’t an excuse. He was startled out of his inner admonition by the arrival of the taxi at the… well, mansion. And he said that as someone who was not easily impressed, having grown up in one. As they climbed out of the taxi, someone in a red dress, presumably their hostess, Sara Lefoski, glided up and welcomed them. “Hello, Ms. Lefoski.” Lestrade replied, obviously having met her to tell her about her husband’s death. That was probably when he’d acquired the invitations. “This is Dr. John Watson, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” “Very nice to meet you. Come in, won’t you?” They walked up to the house, with her pointing out various things on the land, such as fountains and garden beds. Robert was mentioned only once, in reference to the doorknob. Apparently he was the one who’d had it installed. She seemed remarkably calm about it, although she had had time to accept it. There was a muted babble of voices inside the house, and Sherlock picked out a few sentences here and there. “…he managed to take…” from someone obviously talking about her recently divorced husband, and was still recovering from it, “…I heard that…” from an infernal gossip, “…her husband…” talking about Ms. Lefoski, “…murder on the table…” word _did_ spread fast, “…look at _him_ …”, and then in reply “you’re insufferable…”. Who were they talking about? Oh, John. He narrowed his eyes at the woman who’d said that and took a step closer to John. They walked further into the room as Ms. Lefoski pointed out some prominent figures, the excused herself to go talk to one. “How long did you say they’d been divorced?” John asked Lestrade. “I didn’t.” Lestrade said in a tone of mild surprise. “I’ve obviously picked up a thing or two from Sherlock. No ring. And no tan line, so she obviously hasn’t just taken it off when she learnt he was dead.” Sherlock looked back from his inspection of the people in the room. “Very good.” Lestrade blinked. That was even more surprising, Sherlock praising someone? God help us. “They’d been divorced for six months. But she didn’t seem to harbour a grudge against him, apparently it was fairly amicable.” “But they hadn’t talked to each other in months.” Sherlock added. “No.” Lestrade confirmed. “Okay. Should we split up and circle the room?” “As long as Sherlock promises to be ‘charming’.” Sherlock smiled slightly. “I won’t be myself.” “Okay, let’s do it.”

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Lestrade came back to the front of the room having learnt exactly nothing. He hoped Sherlock and John had had better luck, because while he’d managed to flirt quite successfully with quite a few people (he was effectively considering him and Angela split up now), he hadn’t got any information pertinent to the case. He scanned the room and saw both of them deep in conversation, practically oozing charm. He accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and reflexively smiled at a nearby attractive man. Those reflexes had come back very fast. He was actually musing over the case. Usually the problem with cases was that there weren’t any suspects. On this one there was an overabundance of them. He looked around as John came back. “Any luck?” he asked. “No, just gossip about what happened to him, among other things. You?” “Same. Do you know where Sherlock’s gone? I could see him a moment ago.” “I think I saw him walk off in that direction with someone.” John replied, gesturing out and to his left. “Better wait for him.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit more mothering John, although more like husband, actually. Star Trek references, & John finally becomes a bit less of an idiot about his feelings.

Sherlock had followed a woman into a room slightly off the main one, pursuing a lead. She had said something that had led him to believe that she may have had information pertinent to the case, but it seemed she had been misleading him. He kicked himself for not realising that, and talked his way out of the room and away from the woman who was gradually moving closer to him. He scanned the room and saw Lestrade and John standing at the opposite end, holding champagne. He moved his way through the crowd towards them, occasionally throwing out a line at someone, and quickly figuring out whether or not they were likely to have anything. No one was, and so he got to the other two fairly quickly. “Anything?” John asked him before he could ask the same of them. “We didn’t have any luck.” “No.” he replied. “I did think I had something at one point, but it turned out she had…other things in mind.” “She was flirting with you?” “Exactly.” John felt an unexpected spurt of jealousy. “Can we leave, then?” Lestrade asked, before John could say anything he might regret. “Or do we have to mingle for a bit longer?” “We can probably slip out now.” John said, grateful for the interruption. “Well, let’s go, then.”

 

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Back at the flat, John went to bed and tried to convince Sherlock to do the same, without result. The Doctor was fiddling with the TARDIS for hours after John had gone to bed and K-9 had powered down, and Sherlock didn’t go to bed at all, preferring to mull over the case.  The next morning John wandered out to find Sherlock in exactly the same position. He walked over to him. “Sherlock.” he said. There was no response. “Sherlock.” he repeated, slightly louder. Sherlock startled out of his trance and stared up at John. “Is it morning already?” “Yes. I don’t suppose you’ve had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, or slept at all, have you?” “No. I don’t need to yet, and it would be wasting valuable time. My time is better spent thinking.” “Okay, I’m making you breakfast when I make mine now, and you will eat it. And you’re sleeping tonight.” Sherlock closed his eyes again. “You should never start a sentence with ‘and’. It diminishes your image of intelligence.” “As long as you do it, I couldn’t care less.” John replied, perfectly truthfully. “And you will.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he glared at him. John smiled serenely at him. He snorted and sat up. “I never would have offered to be flat mates if I knew how annoying you were.” he muttered. “Yes you would.” John tossed over his shoulder, going into the kitchen. The Doctor came bounding down the stairs carrying K-9. “The Doctor didn’t sleep last night!” Sherlock shouted after John. “But he’s not human. He’s like a Vulcan.” “And actually, I did.” The Doctor contributed. “Just not for as long as John. Sorry, Sherlock.” “Hmmph.” “Would you like some bacon and eggs, Doctor? I’m trying to get Sherlock to eat, and he does succumb to peer pressure, whatever he says.” “It’s actually only from you.” The Doctor replied, sauntering into the kitchen. “It’s more like John pressure. But yes, please. I didn’t eat much yesterday, and your Vulcan metaphor ends at meat. And the time travel… Although not the space travel, I guess. Or the fact that most of the race are stuck-up bastards.”  John gave him an amused look, cracking an egg into a frying pan. “I take it you’re not a great fan of your own race?” “No.” he replied, getting plates out. “Non-interference directive, indeed…” John decided to ignore that and got the bacon out. He looked in the living room as he was frying it, and noticed with satisfaction that Sherlock was doing his hungry-puppy act at the scent. A few minutes later he carried two plates into the living room and set one down in front of Sherlock. The Doctor came in just behind him, carrying his own. They both sat down and Sherlock, rarely, started eating without complaining. John smiled affectionately at him and started eating himself.

 

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Lestrade came over later to deliver the news that he was re-interviewing some of the suspects and would they like to help? His department was a bit over-run at the moment. John replied in the affirmative, as Sherlock was currently in his mind palace going over the case and studiously ignoring everyone else. The rest of the day was passed fairly peacefully, except a brief squabble about Sherlock sleeping that night. It ended with Sherlock promising to go upstairs in a moment and John narrowing his eyes at him and going to his own bedroom. Sherlock settled onto the couch and closed his eyes again. Ten minutes later, John crept down the stairs again. “Ha!” he shouted loudly, making Sherlock jump and snap open his eyes. He relaxed again once he realised it was John. “I knew it. You are coming upstairs with me now.” “John!” Sherlock said teasingly. “This is all so sudden!” John simultaneously blushed and glared at him. “You know what I mean.” “Oh, fine.” Sherlock replied, not budging. John raised an eyebrow and gave him an expectant look. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” he said, standing up. John turned around and stalked up the stairs. He stopped halfway up and stared hard at Sherlock, who sighed and followed him.

 

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The next morning, Sherlock was in a light trance on the couch when John came down. As John opened his mouth to ask him when he came down, Sherlock opened his eyes and cut in smoothly. “John. My phone.” John raised an eyebrow at him. Sherlock sighed heavily. “John, could you please either give me my phone or look at it yourself?” “Where is it?” Sherlock gestured vaguely to his right. John glanced over. “Sherlock. That wasn’t informative.” “On the desk.” John found the phone in amongst messes of cold cases and read it. “It’s Lestrade, he wants to know when we’re coming down and who we’d like to interview.” When Sherlock frowned in confusion he explained. “He came over yesterday while you were ignoring everyone, and I said we’d help with re-interviewing all the suspects.” “Well, I’m staying home.” A smile slowly spread over John’s face. Sherlock frowned at him. “What?” “You called it home. That’s the first time you’ve called the flat home.” Sherlock grunted noncommittally. “Well, are you going to text him back?” “Yes, right.”  He texted Lestrade back saying he’d come over in an hour. As he was composing the message, Sherlock looked up again. “Say you’ll interview Felicity and Alana.” “Why?” “We haven’t talked to Alana.” “And Felicity?” “Talk to the servants.” “I might need someone to distract Felicity while I do that.” “Take the Doctor.” John sighed. “I’ll go ask him.” He traipsed up the stairs and knocked on the door of the TARDIS. “Doctor?” He opened the door and looked around for a minute, before he looked down and just saw his legs sticking out from under the console. “Doctor?” he repeated. The Doctor slid out from under the console as John stepped hurriedly back and bounced up. “Hello, John!” “Hi, Doctor. I’m going to re-interview Felicity Sorrows and Alana Federi. Sherlock’s refusing to come, for reasons unknown, so I was wondering if you wanted to come?” “Do you want me to? Because I need to work on the TARDIS, she’s being temperamental, but I don’t have to do it now.” “No, it’s alright, you stay here.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” “Alright then. Bye!” the Doctor said as he slid back under the console. “Bye.” He went back downstairs, looked at Sherlock, who had fallen back into a trance, and sighed. He really did look angelic like that. Which was a change from the adjectives usually used to describe him. He went into the kitchen and made himself a piece of toast and jam, and went out, collecting his coat on the way. Sherlock sank deeper into his trance.

 

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As it turned out, it started raining after John came out of the butcher’s with pork sausages. Which was unfortunate, as John hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, and had decided to walk there. He was currently ducking from shop cover to shop cover, but getting soaked anyway. He stopped under one to see if it eased any, and looked across the street to see a couple kissing underneath an umbrella, obviously completely oblivious to the rain. He sighed. He knew it was completely lame, a 40-year old man envying a teenage couple this blatantly, but was it really too much to ask for a steady relationship? He decided that if he’d gone that far, he might as well run the full gamut of embarrassing, and tried to imagine him and Daisy in a similar position, but somehow it kept changing into Sherlock. He shook his head and tried to suppress his subconscious. Not gay. Okay, maybe a bit gay. For Sherlock. But… He shook his head again and looked up to find that the rain had eased slightly. He carried on walking and tried to leave those thoughts behind.

 

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Sherlock felt like he was on the edge of figuring the case out. He ran through the suspects again, this time focusing on the less likely ones. Alana… possibly. Sara… probably not. Felicity… a possibility, but couldn’t have been there when he was strangled. Mr. Boni? What possible motive could he have? He might have wanted to dispose of Larry, but not Robert… But… wait a second. Mr. Boni… Felicity… Oh, god, Felicity! He jumped up and ran out the door, grabbing John’s service pistol on the way, with one overwhelming thought dominating his brain. “JOHN!”

 

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John approached the big wrought-iron gates of Felicity Sorrows’ place, and wondered how to get in without her knowing. Eventually he went around the back to find a servant’s entrance, and found an intercom. “Hi. I’m delivering from the butcher’s?” he asked, holding up the sausages in one hand and putting on the lower-class accent of his youth. His accent had become increasingly aristocratic the more he was around Sherlock, he reflected. “We haven’t ordered anything.” “Oh. I must have got the wrong address. Sorry, but I don’t suppose I could come in to dry off for a while? It’s pouring out here.” he asked, exaggerating slightly. “Sure.” A kindly older voice interjected. “Let the poor boy in, Violet.” “He’s hardly a _boy_.” he heard Violet grumble as he got buzzed in. “Thanks.” he said gratefully as he went in. He actually was rather wet, and it was delightfully warm inside the kitchen. “That’s alright.” the cook smiled at him. “I’m Jean Brous, and this is Violet Carriero.” “I’m John,” he thought frantically. “Holmes.” Why? Why that, of all names? “Hello, John. We share a name, then, oui?” “You’re a bit old to be a butcher’s boy.” Violet said bluntly, resuming the chopping she must have stopped to let John in. “Yes, I know. The war. I came back unemployed, and this was the immediate available employment.” John explained. “I’m trying to get employment elsewhere, but I came back injured, so it’s hard.” “Ah, I’m sorry. You must excuse my kitchen hand, she usually has better manners, but the recent events in the house have been hard on all of us.” “What’s happened?” John pretended he didn’t know. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” he added hurriedly. “No, not at all. The mistress’s husband was murdered.” “Murdered?” John asked, in the same breathy way he had heard all too often himself. “Really? Do they know who it was?” He heard Violet choke back a sob and Jean looked worriedly at her. She seemed unusually affected by it. Oh, God. She was quite beautiful, in the slightly exotic way that he seemed to prefer. Oh, god. “No. They’re still investigating.” he heard Jean say as he came back to the kitchen. “Thank you for letting me sit in here for a while,” he said. “But I should go now if I want to finish my deliveries.” “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes, but really, thank you.” he said as he edged out the back door. He sighed and turned around to see Felicity Sorrows standing straight-backed outside the door. He jumped slightly. “Oh, hello, Ms. Sorrows.” “Come with me.” she said, turning to go inside the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. Ha, I'm not sorry!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is solved and there's a happy ending

Sherlock ran exhaustingly. He tried to open the door only to find it locked, and ran around the back. He opened that door and burst in on two very surprised people cooking. The older man opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock raised a finger to his lips and pulled back his coat to let them see John’s gun. The man nodded quickly and pulled the girl back to resume her folding of the pastry.

Sherlock crept out of the kitchen and up the stairs. As he walked silently along the corridor he heard talking behind one of the doors. He glided up to the door and pressed his ear against it. By the sound of it, the villainess of the piece had her back to the door, a remarkably idiotic move. Well, not remarkable, really. All these thoughts ran through Sherlock’s head in a split second, to be replaced by the more important thought of how he was going to disarm her.

 

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“Ah, it’s so nice to be able to tell someone vaguely intelligent about this, with the assuredness that they’re never going to tell anyone,” Felicity was saying at that very moment. “Of course, I’m not going to tell you everything. I’ve seen enough movies to know _that’s_ a bad idea. But he was cheating on me! With that kitchenhand, of all people!”

“So, you didn’t know about the others, then?” John interjected, from the chair where he was tied, with a gun focused unswervingly on him. He didn’t remember exactly how he’d got there, having been knocked out briefly. All he knew was that she was a better fighter than he’d expected, and those high heels were deadly.

“Oh, I figured it out eventually,” Felicity waved a hand, luckily not the one with the Glock 22 in it, bringing John back to the present. “After he was dead, of course. But the kitchenhand was the one who really stung.”  
“Her name is Violet,” John replied.

Felicity considered him. “You’re remarkably calm for someone in extreme danger of imminent death.” Her face cleared, “Oh, you still have faith in your little detective friend, don’t you? That’s sweet. He won’t find you, you know.”

Ironically enough, that was the moment that Sherlock chose to open the door ever so slightly and raise a finger to his lips. John had suspicions that Sherlock may have engineered that, but he kept his eyes carefully fixed on Ms. Sorrows and thanked God and housemaids that the door was oiled.  
“I covered my tracks very well. I always did like Hitchcock,” the elegant woman continued.

Sherlock crept up behind her and raised his gun by the barrel, but before he could strike, she spun around and fired.

Luckily the shot went wide, hitting the doorframe behind the detective. Sherlock fought the instinct to turn his – well, John’s, but operatively his at the moment – own gun around in fear of hitting John. Instead, attempting to utilize the element of surprise, he ran straight at her and grabbed her gun hand. He twisted it upwards just as she fired again, sending down a rain of plaster.

John was silently watching all of this, struggling to slip out of his knots. However, seeing that Sherlock now needed a distraction, John called out her name.

She glanced momentarily towards him. In the moment she was distracted, Sherlock hit her on the left temple, keeping his grip on her wrist with the other hand. Whilst she was stunned he hit her again, harder, and she slumped to the floor.

Sherlock released her wrist and darted across to John. He knelt down in front of him and kissed him full on the lips. John blinked dazedly at the air as Sherlock went behind him and untied the ropes.

He handed his phone to John, talking rapidly as he began to tie up Felicity Sorrows, “Call Lestrade and tell him we’ve got one of the murderers here, and if he sends a police car to 34 Lupus St., he’ll have the other.”

“Um…” John said, simultaneously trying to process both this information and the kiss.

Sherlock looked up slightly exasperatedly. “On the first point, I’ll explain the whole thing when Lestrade gets here. On the second, I love you. Is that really so hard to comprehend?” John shook his head slowly, “I… guess not.” He shakily dialed Scotland Yard and asked for DI Gregory Lestrade.

 

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Greg turned to John and Sherlock. “So, what happened?”

They had both Felicity Sorrows and Mr. Boni (whose first name was apparently Peter) in custody and they were currently standing in the police station with the Doctor. K-9 had stayed at the flat with Mrs. Hudson, who had accepted custody of him without a word, rather than cause a fuss there.

“Well, Felicity wanted to get rid of Mr. Lance, because she’d found out-”

“No, not that. Well, yes, I’ll need to know that, but I meant you and John.”

Sherlock glanced at John.

“Well, let’s just say you all predicted it,” John said.

Lestrade frowned for a second, and then his face cleared. “Took you long enough! Mycroft will be glad to know. If he doesn’t already know. Okay, tell me about the case.”

“As I was saying, Felicity wanted to get rid of her husband, because she’d found out that he was cheating on her.”

John snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“I’ll shut up.”

“Mr. Boni,” Sherlock continued. “wanted to get rid of Larry Brown. He didn’t have quite such a drastic solution in mind for him, though. Felicity had visited Lupus St. often enough that she knew how Larry treated him, and that if something happened to Larry, Peter was likely to inherit the business.”

“But why would his P.A. inherit?” Lestrade asked.

“He had no family, and ‘Boney’, as he called him, was actually a lot more than just his P.A. That was one of the reasons he treated him so badly. He didn’t want anyone to know that he actually did most of the work involved in the running of the business. Peter could certainly have made a convincing court case. Felicity tried to make friends with him after she realised firstly that her husband was cheating on her-”

John interjected at that point. “With her kitchenmaid, Violet.”

Sherlock nodded at him and resumed speaking.  “And secondly that she could manipulate him. She had realised that he wasn’t faithful before Ms. Garry walked in on them, although that really confirmed it for her. So she set it up that Mr. Boni would kill Robert Lance in return for her ‘dealing with’ Mr. Brown.”

“Oh, that explains her last comment,” John realised.

When the other three frowned at him, he elaborated. “Right before Sherlock clocked her over the head, she said something along of the lines of ‘I do like Hitchcock’s films.’”

The Doctor got it first. “Strangers on a Train!” he grinned. “That was one of my favourites.”

“Mine too!”

“Shall we go talk to Ms. Sorrows?” Sherlock cut in smoothly.

 

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“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Sherlock asked, leaning forward. “Why did it take you so long?”

“The plans hit a snag when I learnt that he actually liked the lying bastard,” Felicity sneered. “But I got him over that soon enough.”

“Why did you go back and strangle him?” The Doctor asked.

“I realised I couldn’t trust the P.A. to actually kill him properly. And I was right. The poor, stupid man thought I’d come to save him. Ha! I was happy to fulfill _my_ end of the bargain, since I never liked Larry anyway. Too domineering.”

“Were you planning to kill Larry?” Lestrade wanted to know.

“No, a lot easier and a lot less dangerous to simply… disable him. A few rumours, perhaps a tumble in the stock market, a broken bone resulting in a stay in a hospital during which Mr. Boni would have to take over the business, and Larry would be booed offstage to be replaced by Peter.”

Sherlock gave her a look that was almost admiring. “That’s very neat.”

“I thought so.”

“But you’ll end up in jail anyway,” Lestrade interrupted. “Mr. Boni should get a lesser charge, since he wasn’t the instigator and he was not the one who actually killed Mr. Lance, but you’ll be put away for life. That’s what I feel is a neat ending.”


	11. Epilogue

The Doctor leaned out of the door of the TARDIS with K-9 at his side. “Well then, I’d better be off. Places to go, people to see. But we’ll come visit again. K-9 likes you, and that’s always a powerful motivator. Especially when he keeps harassing me.”

John grinned. “Goodbye. I’m sure we’ll keep busy until we next see you.”

“I’m sure,” replied the Doctor mischievously, looking at their entwined hands.

“He’s not…”

“I know, just teasing. Anyway, I should leave now.” The Doctor stepped back and the TARDIS doors closed behind him.

John looked at Sherlock as it faded away. “We’re never going to see him again, are we?”

“Oh, we might.”


End file.
